Tales of the Fire Spirits
by SilyaBeeodess
Summary: A collection of short stories featuring the fire spirits in both the past and present-day Subcon Forest. This collection will focus on their interactions with the other various inhabitants and visitors of Subcon, including a familiar prince and princess, regular civilians, and a strange hatted child.
1. Sweeties by Your Door

_Put burnt sweeties by your door  
And a fire spirit may keep you warm._

It was a silly, little rhyme for silly humans and it wasn't even _entirely_ true. They weren't picky: They would take nearly any burnt food—the pie crust that stuck to a tin pan, the fatty, greasy oils leftover from fried meat, anything at all would do—and it could be left anywhere within reach. Nevertheless, the fire spirits themselves had come to adopt the saying over the years. Other tongues besides their own were strange, so they rarely grasped more than a small collection of words and phrases, and if that phrase helped humans remember to think of them then it was worth keeping.

The fire spirits may as well have lived in Subcon Forest from the beginning of time. They were the creatures of local legend: They could be mischievous tricksters or helpful house sprites. Most kept to themselves deep in the woods, but there were plenty living not-so-secretly within the village, swiping goodies to feed their fires. Sometimes a particular villager came to their liking. In such a case, a human may find themselves swept off the woodland trails to the fire spirits' domain—at least until they grew bored and sent the poor soul back on their way. Other times, they'd grow attached to a household and keep the hearths lit in return for a human's kindness.

They were neither good nor evil—they could barely even understand those concepts in the way humans could. All that really mattered to a fire spirit was whether or not something was warm and bright. They liked their warm fires, and warm homes, and warm people. Their very existences appeared to hinge around those things, from the first embers surrounding their birth to their combustions at death to the fluttering sparks that marked the beginning of their life cycles all over again. It was their purpose to burn bright and then burn out.

The village fire spirits could, however, become quite territorial of the households they looked after. Not many wanted to share their humans or the treats they laid out for them. It made it hard for younger spirits to find a place of their own. There was a time when the rulers of the Subcon had looked after the fire spirits as closely as their own subjects, but that was generations ago. Now, well…

After some time exploring the outskirts of the village, a tiny fire spirit stumbled upon the manor. It was so young that it hadn't yet shed the plain, golden fur that tipped its legs and tail for the vibrant, multi-colored fluff of its elders. It wasn't as strong as them either. It could, however, recall the memories of its former life—though, more likely, it was a memory from even further back in time—enough that it knew the trails that led it there. That there should've been food to find.

Not that the creature _needed_ to eat, but it was still an integral part of their lives. Food meant fuel, fuel meant growing bigger, stronger, burning brighter. All the spirit wanted was something to catch and burn, to feel something scorch and broil within its stomach.

However, the manor gave it a much different impression than what it remembered. From what it could tell the place looked the same, it just didn't _feel _the same. Even in the middle of a summer day, it seemed somehow darker, colder, and that was _not_ to a fire spirit's liking…

The foxlike flame was about to leave and begin its search elsewhere when its nose twitched, catching the faint scent of smoke. _Food…_ It paused, then sniffed the air again. It was coming from around the back of the manor. All at once, the fire spirit forgot its reservations and chased after the scent. _Food, food!_ its thoughts seemed to sing.

At first, it couldn't find anything—the creature much too small to see the window above dimming with smoke. Then a startled, feminine shriek pierced the air, spooking the fire spirit around the corner of the building, _"My cookies!"_

The shudders were forced open with a loud bang and a tall figure appeared out of the billowing smoke that curled around them and spilled outside in a dark cloud, now free from the confines of the manor. A harsh clang of a metal tray followed as the ruined confections were slammed onto the windowsill in a poor attempt to save them. Of course, it was too late.

The pretty face of a young girl with golden locks stared down at the tray in disappointed horror. Almost all of the cookies were charred black, left forgotten in the oven for far too long. After the initial shock had passed, she dipped her head low in shame. "Mother won't be happy…" she whispered to herself, her lower lip starting to quiver, "She'll be back soon. What am I supposed to do now…?"

Meanwhile, the fire spirit stared at the girl from its hiding place. Actually no, it was staring at the cookies: Oblivious to the girl, it was fixated on them. Again, its nose twitched, _Food!_

The creature moved with a soft tread that made no sound on the fresh grass. As it continued to stare, a familiar rhyme came to its young mind. The human girl was leaving those out for _them_, right? They had to be for them. Overly eager, the young pup jumped up for the tray.

The girl was so swept away in her own thoughts that she didn't notice the fire spirit until—again—it was too late. As the creature grabbed the edge of the tray, it slipped it from her limp hold. She gave a surprised yelp as it fell from the window with both the cookies and the fire spirit. The tray was _centimeters _away from snuffing out the fox as they landed, the distracted creature already scrambling for crumbs as the hot metal landed with another, if more muffled, clang beside it.

_Food, food!_ A whole pile of goodies all for the fire spirit! It wobbled about on its thin legs, dipping low to collect the mess of cookies in its arms all while taking in their burnt scent as it moved. A pleased, twittering hum to a song without measure reverberated from its throat. All the while, all the girl could do was watch on as it then would pause, take a small bite from its spoils, and then begin the song again.

After a long minute, she finally smiled:

"_Put burnt sweeties by your door  
And a fire spirit may keep you warm."_

It took a moment longer for the fire spirit to finally register the girl's presence. It felt her staring at it and blinked up at her with curious eyes and a whole bundle of crumbs still cradled against its chest. Normally, one of its kind wouldn't think anything much of most humans—it usually took time for them to grow accustomed to mankind before they picked their favorites—but there was something… off, about the child. Not in a good way. There were especially warm humans that fire spirits grew closest to the easiest, but instead the child somehow seemed to radiate with a cold chill.

It did not like it. It did not like it one bit. However, it wasn't about to run from its goodies and the smile the girl gave the spirit was such a strong _illusion _of warmth that it kept the curious pup where it was despite its core instincts. So it continued to eat and let the girl continue to watch.

That only went on for so long, however. After a few minutes-in a sudden, swift action—the fire spirit found itself caught in the girl's own arms as she leaned out the window and snatched it, pulling it back inside after her with a light giggle on her lips. The creature twisted its body in a manic manner and kicked out its legs to escape, but while keeping a desperate hold on the cookies and with its teeth and claws still weak with youth it was a vain attempt. The child easily ran with it into the parlor, only letting go after she had plopped down onto the floor with it in front of an empty hearth.

As soon as it could, the fire spirit leapt out of her embrace and scrambled a few, large and cautious steps away—caught between her and wall. It stared at her, wide-eyed. She stared back with expectant, child-like wonder, despite the off feeling never leaving her aura. A long pause settled over the two of them before a thought seemed to occur to the girl and she rose slightly, reaching over for a log piled with others by the wall and flung it into the hearth. Then she settled down once again.

It still took a few seconds for the fire spirit to understand what she wanted. He looked at the log, then to the cookies, then to the girl. Its eyes narrowed slightly with a kind of natural-born pride. No one told a fire spirit what to do. Its warmth wasn't for trade: It was gift, and not one quickly bestowed. Were she any other human, it would've already tried to run off with its goodies—out of the manor and back to the safety of the forest.

But she wasn't a normal, little girl. And it was just a young, tiny fire spirit. And—dare the creature admit it—it _feared_ the cold that seemed to emanate around her.

After building up some of its strength by pausing to eat a little while longer, the creature gave in to the child's wishes. It lit the log. Her eyes twinkling, she made a quiet gasp and clapped excitedly at the sight. Then, remembering the chore of the messy kitchen, she left the pup alone.

Immediately after, the fire spirit fled the manor, as many burnt and broken cookies as it could carry in tow.


	2. Ignition

He wasn't even hungry! The young man looked down at the bag of roasted chestnuts in his hands with a tight, awkward frown. The purchase at a small cart at the edge of the village marketplace had been an impulse buy, a case of nerves that knotted his stomach and beckoned him to do something— anything—to chase the feeling away. The cheerful call of the masked vendor selling them had been a more-than-welcomed distraction at the time only for him to regret it the moment after. Money wasn't an issue, but he cursed his own slip in reason.

He was Queen Vanessa's prince. If she would have him, he intended to marry her. However, it wasn't just about them: His betrothal to Vanessa would mean that their territories would merge and they would share responsibility over the people of Subcon Forest. He had to ensure that he led with a just hand. From a young age, he had poured himself into his studies to prepare for his turn to rule. Years of private lessons and observing court practices had given him a well-taught lawyer's skill. He had even taken the position of a defense attorney in a few cases—although he was certain that both the judges and juries had favored him for his title alone. To them, his word _was_ law.

He didn't want that, and—although he was happy to win—it didn't seem as though there was anyone in Subcon willing to give him an honest challenge. He wanted to judge fairly, to see all of the angles, to understand the system that would fall into his lap before corrupt advisors even had the _chance _to spoon-feed him a well-oiled lie.

Which was why the prince had applied to join one of the best law academies in the land the following term. It would mean leaving his princess behind for a time _if_ they accepted him, but it also meant that he would better serve at her side. Not that he had explained that to her yet: As of now, there was no guarantee he would even get in—despite his royal lineage. He also honestly wasn't sure how she'd take the news. He supposed, if it came to it, he could blame it on his parents, but the thought made him sick. Vanessa wasn't always rational, but she was open with her feelings: How could he ever ask for her hand if he couldn't be equally as honest?

The prince was only a short walk away from his home when he stopped in his tracks and plopped down on a nearby bench with a weary sigh, pulling his cloak even more tightly around him to fight off the chill in the air. The last leaves were falling. Winter was coming. While the first snow had yet to fall, a light frost had already gathered along the forest floor. The Academy's letter should've arrived that very day: He was impatient to hear from them, but also anxious. He didn't want to go home just yet, left to stew with his own, frazzled thoughts in the confines of his study.

What if he wasn't good enough? What if he didn't get accepted? What if he _did?_ What would he do then?

"Food?"

The warbling, high-pitched voice pulled his attention down to the patch of earth near his feet. Although he inwardly cringed at the sudden interruption, he wasn't actually surprised by the sight of a fire spirit standing next to him. They usually kept a certain distance, but they weren't flighty creatures either. Everyone who lived in the Subcon Forest was bound to see them up close at least once. A few stayed close to his home and he had seen them like this multiple times already.

The fire spirit—young enough that it barely reached his knees—was sniffing at the bag in his limp grasp. It blinked at it, then up at him, then would drop its gaze again. The chestnuts. With a tired smirk, the prince plucked a few from the bag, the momentary withdrawal beckoning the creature to inch closer to his side before he set the small pile away from him on the bench.

"Be my guest," he offered, although he wasn't entirely sure how well the fox understood him. Typically, only the oldest spirits could somewhat master human language. "_Someone _should get to enjoy them anyway."

Even if it could decipher his words, the fire spirit's focus was already drawn to the chestnuts. Little fingers clasped the first one and, with a squirrel's rapid speed, peeled away the outer shell before plopping the treat into its mouth. The shell immediately followed after. He chuffed at the nonsensical action.

They could sometimes be a nuisance, but he had to admit that he did enjoy watching them. They were strange creatures whose ways of life were curious and ancient. Beyond legends and speculation, their timeless dances were the only real aspect of their culture that any Dweller grasped, if only because the mythical barriers the spirits summoned in the process disturbed their daily lives.

He felt the heat of a warm body close behind him before he heard the voice this time, "Food?"

He turned his head to the other side. Another one… two fire spirits had snuck up beside him, the second clinging to the back of the bench-almost pressing itself against him—and the third leaning against the front with its head resting on the seat. _Now_ he was a little nervous. Overall, the fire spirits didn't seem to mean much harm, but they did have the occasional habit of making mischief, such as kidnapping travelers on the forest roads like the one they were on now. People hardly had to worry about the little ones—even the adult fire spirits could be chased away so long as there was only one or two to face—but for a moment he wondered just how many it would take to overwhelm him.

Fortunately, like the first, the newcomers were far more interested in his food than they were in himself. The second fox by his legs emboldened itself enough to creep over and lightly tug on the bag, prompting the one behind him to clamor over the back of the bench and onto his shoulder. The prince froze. Soon, all three fire spirits were climbing over him to reach for more chestnuts, tiny hands and feet poking at his body to find purchase wherever they could.

"Alright, calm down!" he raised his voice, trying not to squirm as he pulled the bag away with an outstretched hand. He poured its contents out on the seat beside him. "There's plenty for all of you!"

Scooting away, he eyed the trio as they cried out in twittering glee and piled together around the chestnuts. Eager, little hands fed grinning mouths and fiery tails flickered in content with every bite. Now free from their vying grasp—all save for one that continued to sit against his leg like its own, personal cushion—he exhaled in relief. The prince muttered, "Mooches, all of you…" but all the while a smile played on his lips.

"_Roasted, toasted! Tasty, yum!"_ Each of them warbled in a sing-song voice, their voices overlapping in a cheerful chorus as they ate. With the large bounty split between the three of them, they each now took their time enjoying the snack. The prince reclined against the bench and enjoying the bundle of heat the three naturally emitted, which only seemed to radiate more from their feeding. Little did he know that the fire spirits were equally as content under the warmth of his own person.

Several minutes passed and the prince was lulled into a kind of subconscious rest; never falling asleep, but in peaceful enough state to spare a moment with his eyes closed. He didn't realize just how tired he was. Worrying about the Academy, about Vanessa, about the future… It was taking its toll on him. Vanessa was already the crowned ruler of her territory and everything was going according to her plans: He had to turn his own into action.

"Your Highness?"

It wasn't one of the fire spirits: If somewhat nasally, the voice was too masculine. The prince cracked open an eye to see the local messenger hold out a sealed envelope toward him, short breaths curling in front of the mouth of his elk-shaped mask. The former sprang up in his seat, startling the foxes. He also noticed that the messenger kept a certain distance from him; though whether it was out of respect, the presence of the fire spirits, or both, he didn't know.

He opened his mouth in greeting, but for a strange change found he was unable to speak as his nerves gripped him once again. So he just took the offered envelope and gave the messenger a brief nod in thanks before settling back down. While the messenger jogged down the trail toward the village, he stared hard at the paper. It was from the Academy, written in the Dean's elegant hand.

"What is? What this?" came the voices surrounding him on the bench, curious noses sniffing at the paper.

Excitement and dread fell over him at once. He wanted to rip the letter open right then, but he was scared of whatever it might say. _Maybe I should wait until I'm home,_ he mused. _Surely mother and father would want to hear the news firsthand, whatever it may be._ Or maybe not. If his application had been rejected, that would mean he'd have to immediately brace himself for the disappointment that would almost definitely follow. Maybe it was better that he waited until he was safe within the privacy of his own room—

Other creatures had other plans. While the last two fire spirits had brought their attention back on their food, the first one placed a hand to the letter and ignited it. The prince's eyes widened in panic. Jumping from seat, he first waved the letter in the air only for it to spark with an even greater flame, so—after a quick glance around—he knelt low and pressed it to the frost-covered ground.

When he examined the letter a second time, he found that the fire spirit's magic had been concentrated enough to only burn the seal away. He fought to recollect himself after the false alarm, the foxes relaxing with him in turn. They regrouped around him as he sat with his lips slightly pursed at the envelope. Now that the seal _was_ broken, it mocked him.

He opened the letter and felt his heart lighten a little.


	3. Chilled

It was that time again. The aged fire spirit could feel it in the marrow of their bones—creaking and crackling inside its body like branches burning in a roaring fire that, day by day, became increasingly more difficult to maintain. Its skin shown bright from the excessive heat that had built from within over the course of its lifespan, and soon it would join its kind in the seasonal dances that marked the beginning and end of their cycles.

Near the end of their lives, fire spirits sought out safe havens away from their domain: Prime locations to build the ritual fires that could stay lit for days at a time. Then, once the dances began, they couldn't be stopped. Elder spirits would twist and turn around the flames in graceful unison, and it was up to the young to find plenty to burn over the course of the ritual; enough to create a crescendo of fire for the elders to catch upon as they themselves burst into flame.

Safety wasn't a primary concern, not for the spirits at least. The natural barriers that were summoned during their dance would keep most threats at bay. The fires alone were the most important part: They typically needed a good, dry spot to grow and plenty around to continuously feed them. Building them in a nice, dark place was also commonly ideal so that they'd only shine brighter against their surroundings. What a beautiful thing it was, to meet the end in an erupting pillar of warm light!

The fire spirit journeyed with a small group of its kin to find their own spot. Unfortunately, much of Subcon had changed in the creature's current cycle. Ice and snow had devoured a large portion of the forest, greatly limiting their kind's options in their wide exploration to prepare for the ritual. Too much of the land was cold and wet and not at all to a fire spirit's liking: They were miserable places with little to burn. Some spirits had even begun to explore beyond the forest in hopes of finding ideal territory.

It hoped, in its next cycle, that Subcon would undergo another great change—one for the better. It missed the funny humans they used to pick on for laughs, and the villagers that would give them plenty of goodies. It missed when the forest was bright and full of life, with plenty of things to burn. Their kind would survive—the young were already finding new ways—but it was still upsetting.

As the spirit and its kindred wove through the trees, a cluster of ice crystals jutting out of the earth caught its eye. They made an effort to avoid the ice and snow, but it was impossible. It appeared all over the forest, especially in the portion they travelled near now. The creature felt itself flare up as it gazed hard in the direction beyond the crystals, where the ice continued to expand. If they followed along that path, they'd eventually run into the origins of their current predicament. In recent years, the fire spirits had been known to treat _that _place with caution: Oh, how they had come to _hate_ it. If it weren't for the powerful, frigid magic keeping their own at bay—combined with the cold and sodden landscape—they would've _torched_ the place.

But there was nothing they could do, not with nature against them and in their weakened states. One of the other spirits placed a hand on its back as if to console it and urge it onward. The creature nodded. Right, no use dwelling on what they couldn't change. And they had their search to complete. The group continued.

The night air made its fur bristle, although there was little indication between night and day anymore. A dark miasma had clung to the area, another unfortunate change to their once lovely home. For humans, it was nearly impossible to tell the difference when clouds fell over the forest, without the travel of the moon and stars to indicate the passage of time. The fire spirits could still tell though, if only by the shifts in temperature that marked the seasons and—more subtly—the hours.

However, that night was strikingly clear. The fire spirit couldn't resist lifting its eyes up at the full moon at hung in the sky. Its light almost always felt cold anymore, just like everything else, but it still shone vibrantly…

All of a sudden, the creature's ears perked up. Out of nowhere, it sensed a sudden warmth appear along the bleak landscape. All of them did, each fire spirit stopping in their tracks at the feeling. It was the sort that they only knew to come from a rare handful of the Dwellers anymore, or even less so from a small amount of the already pitiful number of travelers that occasionally braved the forest. And _never _did they sense something like this so close to the manor. It had all of them on edge.

But that particular fire spirit also felt something strangely _familiar _about that warmth, like something from a dream or distant memory. The feeling called to it so much that the spirit couldn't resist moving hesitantly _toward_ the heat spike—stopping once to flick its feet in discontent as the chilly, moist dirt that sunk between its toes and then darting off deeper into the woods.

It hadn't meant for the others to follow, but they did. They were stronger together anyway.

The sensation led them to a small patch of open field within the forest, where the leafless, craggily trees framed the sky like a wreath of thorns. Amid the ice pillars and crisp remains of dead undergrowth, a single figure hovered above the earth, staring up at the sky. It was… relatively human in form, spectral, male; dressed in a pale, yellow tunic and red jacket faded from grime and excessive wear with broken chains strapped to his wrists. His skin was as faint a blue as the ice that surrounded him, and he seemed to be wearing a mask that crescented around the right half of his face.

There was no way they could hide from him even if they tried: The light emitting from their bodies was too distinct from the shadows and he spotted them almost as soon as they entered the area. Recoiling in surprise, he shuffled back. The fire spirit approached a few steps after him in turn only to realize that the others had retreated the other way. There was little question why though: For the warmth they felt coming from him, it also came with a confusing mix of other feelings all too similar to the darkened state of the forest itself.

All the same, the familiarity was jarring. Even the appearance of the phantom seemed to mock the creature, but it still couldn't recall why. Multiple cycles of memories had ways of overlapping, but mature fire spirits could pick apart some of them enough to string together important aspects of their lives. It _knew_ the figure was important… somehow…

The fox tried to get closer, but stopped short—fur bristling—as the man dipped into an aggressive stance with strange, red cords manifesting from his wrists, contorting in uncontrollable lashes. In turn, light flames flickered along the spirit's hide in warning. As curious as the creature was, if the phantom was foolish enough to challenge its fire, by all means, let him try. Whatever odd power he possessed, it was clear he had little mastery of it and there were few things that could best the creature's own magic.

A realization that seemed to dawn on him soon enough as he steadied himself. The spirit followed suit, but continued to approach the former with a careful tread. Sizing up to a small, adult human with the specter hovering in the air, the fire spirit measured to the other being's chest. Reluctance continuously hanging between the two, it sniffed his hand then—feeling him tense as it did so—placed its head against his palm.

The action barely lasted longer than a second. _Cold!_ He was too cold! The fire spirit may as well have stuck its head in the snow! It jumped back in disgust as it eyed the phantom with confusion. Sparks licked at its feet, fiery enough to ignite the somewhat damp undergrowth and create a nice—if sadly shallow—bed of fire for it to stand in. The man flinched, but besides that showed no sign of being startled. Instead, he seemed to look at his own hand in dismay.

The fire spirit couldn't figure it out. How could a being that echoed such a familiar, peculiar warmth be so horribly cold? What was this creature? Not like the lost souls that roamed Subcon, surely: Although their mortal bodies were lost and even the warmth of many of their individual essences had altered, none of them came close to the enigma that was this one.

As if drawn to the flames, at last the phantom calmed enough to near the fire spirit this time—briefly circling with his own curiosity before he came to rest. Although the fox's chest puffed confidently at the admiration of the fire, it pitied this being. His whole existence seemed to be a sad, puzzling self-contradiction.

For the third time, the fire spirit moved closer to him. If he could not warm himself, then maybe it could grant him just a moment's comfort. It twisted itself around the phantom's body, tail curling around his waist and head pressing against his skin—though, even prepared, the creature still _writhed_ at the nasty cold seeping from the other.

The phantom looked at the fox for a long time. And then he began to laugh—an empty, sorrowful, unhinged laugh—that shook his entire body. The spirit's ears pinned back, but it didn't leave his side, even as its kin rounded closer to watch over the scene. Encouraged, still shivering, the phantom looked the spirit in the eye and gave him a solemn shake of his head:

"I'm afraid you're too late, my friend."


	4. Playing with Fire

How old was he now? Twelve? Some of the other spirits assured him he was close to that age, but there were times when it seemed that he hadn't aged a day—that everything stopped the instant the cursed ice had rapidly caught his feet and encased his body—and others when he felt much, _much_ older. Time passed too slowly for his liking and there was little that happened to hurry it onward.

Few people journeyed through the forest anymore, so there was hardly anyone new. They no longer required the basic necessities that were the daily aspects of their former lives, so typical chores like cooking or cleaning were, overall, pointless. They sun hid itself away long ago, so they couldn't even _watch_ time pass as they once did. At large, all they had were the tasks—which more often than not felt like busy work—given to them by their 'boss' to pass the hours.

Their boss was a menacing, if charismatic, shadow-like specter that outsiders had begun to refer to as 'The Snatcher,' the soul thief. The massacre of their home, the ice that continuously fought to expand across Subcon, and the miasma that clung to the forest ever since were more than enough to keep most travelers away; however, if they weren't, his terrifying presence was. He had shown up out of nowhere a few months after their village was destroyed, claiming that Subcon was under 'new management.' _His_ management.

At the time, not one of the Dwellers trusted him. They had suffered too much and he was just another horror that had invaded their lives. Queen Vanessa had lost her mind and was responsible for the full devastation of the land. The rulers of the neighboring territory—which had faced almost equal destruction—were either dead or had abandoned them and even their young prince, the queen's lover, had vanished without a trace. Many of them had been separated from their families, brother from sister and parents from children, as some had moved on to the spiritual plane while they remained trapped in the mortal world.

But Snatcher was nothing like the other lost souls that lingered in Subcon. None of them had a sliver of the magic he wielded and they didn't stand a chance against him. Some didn't even want to: Self-proclaimed ruler of the forest or no, he kept them safe from trespassers or other malevolent spirits that were attracted to the land's mystical energies.

More importantly, he had given them new bodies so they could interact with the world similar to how they once did. It was a right only given to those who swore over their loyalty, signing the contracts that bound them under his service for all eternity. However, for many—himself included—that tradeoff was worth everything. There were times that Snatcher pushed them beyond their limitations, but they were rare and most of the work focused on rebuilding some semblance of the home they had lost. He actually made them believe that there was hope enough to carry on.

Sometimes though, it was hard to move forward. The small minion glanced over his shoulder to make sure that he hadn't been followed, then continued his steady, silent march through the woods. Just like their frozen village, this section of the Subcon had been abandoned. Queen Vanessa's storm hadn't marred it to the same extreme as the latter—its close proximity to the fire spirits' domain likely had something to do with that—but she had still left her frigid mark on the place. The buildings and towers of dark, clean-cut stone that the area had been known for all laid in ruin, quickly taken over by the forest undergrowth after the first thaws.

While many of the people who had lived there had managed to escape the frost—the storm reaching them last—none of them had returned. He didn't blame them: There wasn't anything worth saving and even if there was it just brought back too many bad memories. Still, it was a nice, quiet place when he wanted to get away and he didn't have a personal enough attachment there as he did with the village to cause him any pain.

It was the perfect spot for hiding things too.

Nearing the tall side of a collapsed tower, the boy looked around once again before moving the top of a neat pile of fallen bricks. A fox-shaped mask was safely tucked away under them, and he braced it in his hands as if carrying a precious treasure. It had been common for the children of Subcon to wear them, as a matter of tradition and to protect them from the various spirits that lived in the forest. The masks helped them see things hidden from plain sight and confused the spirits. Now, they didn't need them. For the most part, only the Dwellers wore them in reminiscence of the past.

He had still kept his though. He remembered his momma… A stickler for the old ways, she had always been fearfully frustrated with him whenever he forgot to put on his mask before running to play outside. _Make me cry, why don't you?_ she'd say, _That's what you'll do when the fire spirits take you away from me! They love sweet, mischievous boys like you!_

He held it up, sighing at the familiar touch against his incorporeal face. If he closed his eyes, he could remember the soft caress of her hands, the scent of soap or flour on her wrists from where she was always working around the home. He was outside with his friends when the storm hit: He wasn't even with her when—! He cut the thought short and a hard lump formed in his nonexistent throat.

He missed her so much…

The sounded of a snapping twig from behind startled him out of his memories. He hastily stashed the mask back in its hiding place as though it were instinct and spun around on his feet. It took him seconds to find the source of the noise: A fire spirit sat close by, sitting beneath the thin trunk of a dead tree. It was breaking apart little twigs in its paws into bite-sized pieces, singeing them with its fingertips before popping them in its mouth. He relaxed.

Soon enough, the fire spirit noticed him too. It was just a little taller than him when it stood, possibly an adolescent. The boy backed away as it approached, but he was pinned between it and the tower. He could've ran, but honestly a part of him didn't want to. It had been a long time since he had seen a fire spirit from this close.

The creature tilted its head in equal curiosity. Although their shrinking territory meant that they crossed paths with the Dwellers and Snatcher's minions more often, the storm had spooked them off for some time. And while the warmth of their essences was familiar enough, the forms their souls now took were strange and new to the spirits. It sniffed at him, batting its ear. "You have food?" it asked in the typical, twittering voice of its kind.

Shoulders lifting in a baffled, awkward pose, the boy rapidly shook his head. He couldn't eat, so there wasn't a need to have any. But the fire spirit continued to stare at him with an imploring gaze. Right; many of the foxes had gotten "food" from the villagers before, whether because they laid it out on their doorsteps in offering or because they had stolen it. Without the villagers, they had been cut off from a significant food source and the cold probably hadn't made things any better for finding things that suited their tastes in the woods.

A groan of discomfort resonated from him and he drew his hands to his chest, looking around. Then he spotted the shape of a hearth in one of the nearby, collapsed houses. He didn't think he would find anything useful—if there was even anything still in there at all, it was probably either fine dust or rotted mush by now—but he wanted to try. Jogging the short distance, he began to search through the ruins while the fire spirit gingerly tip-toed after him, watching from a distance.

It took him a while, but he couldn't believe his luck! Much of anything pickled or canned wouldn't satisfy a fire spirit—which was good, because most all of that had shattered long ago—but eventually he found a tightly sealed, wooden box full of some kind of dried pepper. He couldn't remember what they were, but he knew he saw his momma dry something like them in the oven to use for soups. The boy hobbled back to the spirit with the box held out toward it, "It's not much, but would this work? Do you like this?"

"Like this?" it echoed, ducking to smell the container. It huffed, shaking its head at the strong, spicy scent that burst from the open top, and then made a sound almost like a twittering purr. It hurriedly reached for the peppers, the force behind it nearly enough to knock the box out of the boy's hands, "Like this! Like lots!"

He quickly handed the box over to the spirit and took a step back as it began to stuff its face. Even though he couldn't even remember the last time he tasted food, some remnant of his former life made him cringe at the sight—every bite reminding him of a distant, burning sensation. He guessed the overwhelming taste was nothing to a fire spirit though, and he shook his head in wonder.

"I thought you guys were supposed to be kind of scary," he said, "but you're pretty funny. I like you."

"Like this! Like you! Like you!" it sang with a full mouth.

The boy laughed, then turned to leave. He couldn't stay for very long at a time: If he did, _someone _was bound to notice. While a rift had formed between them and the Dwellers, all of Snatcher's minions tried to look after one another. Besides, the boss didn't think kindly of anyone 'loafing around on the job.'

He hadn't walked very far when he heard the rush of graceful feet hurry through the grass and a warm pair of limbs cling to his own arm, yanking him back with enough force to trip him in place. "_Nooo!_ Like you, like you!" the fire spirit whined. He looked back behind them to find the box lying in the grass, spilled open with barely a crumb left inside.

"Let go of me; I have to go," he grumbled, trying to tug himself free from the creature's firm hold.

It refused to give up. "Like you, like you!" it continued to chant, as if speaking a mantra. It pulled him back, dragging him the opposite way through the woods.

Fear crept down the boy's back. He remembered the stories told at night to frighten children like him into behaving, to keep them from wandering off where they weren't supposed to be and remind them to always wear their masks as a precaution. He remembered an old winemaker that claimed to have been stolen away by the fire spirits when he was young—and said that they had let him go only on the same kind of whim that stirred them to take him in the first place. Most of all though, he remembered his mother's warnings.

He panicked, fighting with all of his might to break free. He managed it only for a second as the fox then bit his hood and pulled him over once again, this time looping its arms underneath his own. The struggle continued until he saw another, vibrant glimmer shine through the trees. Then another! More of them were coming!

He screamed. The fire spirit was pulling at him so roughly that the seam of his shoulder began to tear and a small bit of stuffing poked through. He didn't tire as he once would've, but this body of his was hardly anything more than a plush shell: He wasn't powerful enough to fully meld his ghostly essence to a physical form yet! And if this kept up… "_Somebody, help!_"

Everything went black. For a moment, all that illuminated the void spread before them was the fire spirit's glistening fur and bright features of his own face shrouded by his robes. Then something with all the force of a bludgeon rammed into them—sending the two flying and ripping the fire spirit away from him. The boy landed a few meters away on the grass with a dull thud and the spirit scrambled elegantly on all fours as their surroundings returned to normal.

With one noticeable difference: Snatcher's towering figure loomed over them.

Once a fire spirit reached a certain stage of maturity, their bodies were practically invulnerable from most attacks and their spells could combat against both physical and spiritual forces. Only water or extreme cold could deter them, or else they had to be forced into overspending their energy. That was when they were at their strongest. They were a definite threat on equal ground, but a still somewhat young fire spirit—on its own, as the rest of its kin had quickly scurried off at the sight of the newcomer—facing off against the nigh unstoppable shadow? The odds favored Snatcher.

And it knew it. The fox still puffed itself up, its fur licked by flames, in order to pull off a bluff; however, as soon as the latter summoned the glowing marker that forewarned one of his erupting attacks, it fled, disappearing in a cloud of sparks and smoke.

The boy remained quietly where he was, clutching his shoulder, as he watched his employer stare after the spirit. Usually, the chirp of bats or chirrup of insects vibrated through the trees, but even they had fallen silent. The entire section of the forest seemed to mute itself out of intimidation of the specter. But the youth couldn't keep quiet for long, shuffling back onto his feet and muttering a timid, "T-thank you, Boss…"

Snatcher barely turned around, not even bothering to look at him at first. He continued to stare off after the long-gone fire spirit, but there was no use trying to give chase: Beyond that it was simply pointless, the fire spirits' domain lay in secret with only the eternally burning trees that encircled it giving any indicator of its location. Snatcher took a deep breath.

"If you have time to play with fire spirits," he slowly began only for his voice to soon rise to a furious shout, "_then you have time to do your job!_" Within a split second, he stretched his lithe body across the forest floor, craning himself over the boy. "Now… Get back to the others before I torch you myself!"

"R-right away, Boss!" he stammered, already at a run before he had even checked to see where he was going, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush to obey. He didn't want to upset him anymore than he already had. Nevertheless, for not the first time in his brief afterlife, he was just happy that Snatcher was on _their _side.


	5. Respite

The lone fire spirit wove through the trees along the forest floor with a lighthearted tread, sweeping across the landscape as gracefully as water flowing from a stream. The ritual dances of their elders had gone off without a hitch. While it was extremely rare for any of them to fail to complete it, it was sometimes hard for them to maintain enough energy upon combustion to carry over for their rebirth. Newly born fire spirits were often fragile, so it was important for them to have enough of a spark to sustain themselves until they could feed. There was no worry that any of them would lack that spark this season.

Although the fire spirits lived daily alongside the people of Subcon Forest, a rift had formed between them over recent generations. It began with the great ice storm that had swallowed the land, killing off most of the Dwellers and robbing the fire spirits of a bulk of their terrain. Hardly anyone left out goodies for them anymore, and it became harder to find both food and sites for their dances in the forest itself. Then there was the Shadowy One that chased most of the spirits, of all species, away until only the foxes remained. At times, it seemed that only the limited space of the woodlands kept the two groups from isolating away from each other completely. Either way, although the fire spirits had never forgotten the days before the storm, many of the Dwellers seemed to actively try to forget about them at every turn.

Then came the hatted child. The rare travelers that still dared to enter the forest had become the fire spirits' main source of entertainment over the years, but this one was _really_ special: A little girl that came from across the stars. She was a curious one, funny and full of the life that the forest had lost. Not only did she talk to the fire spirits and join in their dances, she helped with the ritual by gathering plenty of the cursed paintings set around the forest.

Imbued with the life energy of their victims, burning the paintings allowed the fire spirits to siphon a portion of that energy to their own reserves. However, there was no guarantee that they would trap anyone and the Shadow's minions had a nasty habit of moving them around. Finding them again was always a chore, and finding them in a timely manner while the ritual took place was worse. The fire spirits couldn't be more grateful to the hatted child for her help. Thanks to her, their kin were assured a strong and healthy rebirth.

Which was why the fire spirit stopped at the sight of the child curled up within the hollowed trunk of an old oak, snuggled between its wide roots with a piece of paper crumpled against her chest in a sleepy embrace. If it weren't for the bright aura the alien exuded calling out to it like a beacon, the spirit might not have noticed her at all, practically camouflaged as she was with her violet attire matching Subcon's dark, miasmic atmosphere. Lowering itself on all fours, it crawled over to her and lightly sniffed at her hair.

The little girl's hat had fallen lop-sided over her matted head and her breathing was soft and steady. Poor thing must've stopped for a moment's rest and had fallen asleep. They knew the Shadow had the child running all over the forest, loaded down with many tasks that few adults of any race could accomplish—much less a puny thing like her. The fire spirits loved their mischief, but what he put her through wasn't fair! He had even sent her to that nasty, cold place where the ice witch lived! No fire spirit envied her march through the snow or swim through the flushed well.

But the little girl was a crafty thing, almost as crafty as one of their kind if the fire spirit cared to admit it. She survived each of the Shadow's mean games no matter where he sent her! The fox twittered quietly to itself in delight at that. It liked this hatted child very much! They all did.

If only it could steal the girl away to their home! It was certain she'd love it: There, everything was bright and warm and there was no icky snow to chill the little one's feet. They could teach her more of their dances and she could help them with their mischief-making. Of course, they would need to bring her _human_ goodies to keep her comfortable—she seemed human enough anyway that she likely wouldn't be able to stand the smoke and fire for great lengths without help—but, oh, the fun they could have!

The fire spirits had already spoken about it among themselves though, and they all agreed that the Shadow wouldn't like it. They did not fear him—he seemed weak to their flames and, wicked as he was, there was something about him that tickled their curiosity—but he wasn't to be underestimated either. If they took the hatted child now, the Shadow might come for her and there was no telling what destruction he might cause if he found their beloved home. Fine: They could wait. He might've taken a great interest in her now, but he would have to grow bored of her eventually.

Still, that wasn't a reason to let the little one catch cold. Creeping forward, the fire spirit paced around the child before lying down next to her with its tail stretched protectively over her small torso and its head resting gently overtop of her own.

The sudden warmth of its body stirred the hatted child awake for just a brief moment. The girl looked up with sleepy eyes to face a cover of golden fur blocking her vision, reaching out subconsciously to stroke its pelt with a faint grin tracing her lips. Then she settled back down again with her hand still fondly brushing its soft locks.

_Yes, _thought the spirit, trying to contain its amusement against the risk of waking her, _someday we'll take you home with us. _ It looked forward to many fun days to come.


	6. Tempered Flames

The small fox batted its ears with its paw, staring at the largest tree in Subcon Forest. It was barely more than a spark, only just old enough to have scrambled away from its home of fire and smoke to explore the rest of the expansive woodlands nearby. The pup was one of the reborn from the previous season and, like the rest of its litter, had started to venture beyond the fire spirits' domain to feed both its wide-eyed curiosity and the steady, small flame flickering in its gut.

Few memories had resurfaced yet from its previous lifetimes, so the creature didn't have much beyond instinct to guide it along the way. Much to its detriment: It was a miracle that it made it safely across the wide vine the strung over the small 'moat' to reach the tree. It understood _feelings_—like the discomforting wave of cold that resonated from the water beneath it—but it couldn't fully understand what they were or where they came from.

Take the warm essence that lingered within the tree, for instance. To the fire spirit, it felt like the heat of a low bonfire: Dim, wavering, but refusing to burn out, fighting to keep itself alive all while shielding those that kept close to its flames in a pleasant glow. There were risks to that kind of fire—if something new was thrown onto it, it could lash out in a chaotic eruption of sparks—but it was alluring too, especially amid the shroud of darkness that blanketed over the forest.

There was another feeling, one that was bold and sparkly, but it was too distant to make out beyond that. Too hidden by the dark miasma that wove throughout the woods to read.

The fire spirit continued to shuffle over to the tree, crawling through the gaping opening that shone like a wide, grinning-maw. The wooden flooring was different from the craggily grasses and other rough terrain it was used to maneuvering across, and it shook itself in relief under the orange light encased within, pausing for a moment to bathe in the more-than-welcomed brightness.

Distracted by its own short rest, the spirit didn't notice the Shadow towering above until it took a second glance around. Really, he was impossible to miss, his dark form a striking contrast from the amber shades that surrounded them. Not that he noticed the small intruder either, but the little thing had crept inside as silent as the grave and blended in almost perfectly with the walls and floor. And he had his own distraction, curled in a plush chair with a large book sprawled in front of him. Only the turn of a page broke the calm silence that hung in the air.

The pup didn't have a clue what kind of threat loomed over it simply by being there: All it knew was the baffling, warm feeling it felt coming from the figure. Intrigue won over caution and it scampered over to the side of the chair, where the figure's elongated, ghostly tail curved along the ground. Uncoordinated, it tripped over his tail, not bothering to get back up and looping its tiny arms around it instead.

* * *

A powerful magic combined with years spent materialized in the mortal plane had given the lost soul a strong, physical presence, enough so that he twitched at the contact. When it didn't go away, Snatcher dragged his tail along the floor as if he were trying to scratch an itch. And still it didn't leave! It was bothersome enough that at last he directed his attention away from his reading to glance down and find the miniscule form of a fire spirit clinging into him.

He frowned. The ones this young were hardly worth the trouble it took to get rid of them: They always left a mess of scorch marks and ashes behind. The real problem, however, was that he wasn't heartless enough to kill one—even if it was child's play to do it when they were this small. They had no mastery of the dangerous flames their elders could wield, because, at this stage, they usually had just enough of a fire in them to stay alive and not a bit more. If a fire spirit was killed this early on in their cycle though, that was that. There was no rebirth, no revival curtesy of any pons, no coming back, no kind of afterlife for them that he knew existed. Sometimes, he debated if that would be for the better, but for now he still couldn't commit to that sort of finishing blow.

Nevertheless, no matter the age, any member of their species could be just as annoying as any other. He didn't want them to start hanging around and more might follow suit if he wasn't firm. Closing the book with a loud bang, Snatcher set it down on the chair in his place as he rose. "Oh no you don't!" he barked, lifting his tail before him to harshly stare down at the creature, "Look, I'm not in the mood to scrape your ashes off of my perfectly good floor today, so go find somewhere else to get snuffed!"

Words were meaningless to the creature, but he had hoped he could scare it enough to make it run off. But it didn't: It just dangled from his tail with a twittering noise almost like a soft purr vibrating from its throat. As if it was laughing.

Mocking him…

With a swift flick of his tail, Snatcher sent the fire spirit flying out of his home and into the grass across the water. The light of its small body flickered at the landing, but soon enough the pup sprang back up with a confused look around. He snorted. If it knew what was good for it, the spirit wouldn't make the risky trip over to him a second time.

He settled back down in his seat, somehow actually _refreshed_ by the brief interruption. It felt good, asserting his reign over the forest, even against a tiny spirit like that. There weren't many things he could control when… _certain incidents_, had taken place. More recent incidents hadn't fallen in his favor either, not since a strange, alien craft had entered their planet's orbit.

He was determined to try to carry on with business as usual. The cursed outhouse was gone, the well was fixed, and the fire spirits shouldn't create any more of their barriers until the time came to conduct their ritual dances once again. Even Vanessa was likely too busy stewing in a circle of ice pillars—furiously checking every in and out of her manor—to be a problem for him for some time. The ghost picked up his book once again. He'd earned a bit of a break.

"Hey! Hey, Snatcher!" a giggling voice broke through his thoughts, "Look what I found!"

_Peck…_

He didn't want to—he_ really _didn't… Nevertheless, a purple hat jumped within his line of vision, over the edge of the book as a familiar figure bobbed up and down on the balls of her feet to get his attention. He shifted the book in his grasp, inching it higher to block her from his sight. It didn't work for long: A tiny hand reached up and forced the text to lay flat in his lap before retreating to cradle something against her chest.

A thousand, angry quips were ready to fly from his tongue, but as vivid, aqua eyes stared up at him eagerly, his own gaze dropped to the glowing bundle in Hat Kid's arms. It was the fire spirit, nestled tightly against her with its legs dangling helplessly underneath it. He could've laughed, _See? That'll teach you._ He knew how prideful its kind was, down to the very core of their being. Like this though, the spirit may as well have just been some simpering puppy that she had found abandoned in a cardboard box on the side of the street.

However, the fox seemed to _cling_ to the child despite the embarrassing display, little, harmless claws fastened to the fabric of her sleeves with its arms pinned close to its own chest. Maybe it was just trying to keep itself from falling…

"It's so _teeny!_" she squealed delight, snuggling her cheek against the top of the spirit's head, "Why's this one so small? Is it a baby?"

"Yep!" Snatcher flashed her a wide, fake grin, "_Hey now,_ you know what? That little guy reminds me of you!"

"Really?"

"Yeah! You're _both_ obnoxious, little pests!" Dropping the friendly charade, his scowl returned and he jerked his book in front of his face once again. "Now scram, kiddo. How many times do I have to say it? Shoo! Vamoose! Your presence is no longer needed—_or wanted_—here! You've got your soul, you've got your Time Pieces, now _go!"_

It still infuriated him, that he was bested by a _child_, outwitted enough for her to not only manage to survive his contracts, but also a battle with himself. She didn't even have her hats' abilities to save her and she fought on. If he had actually dragged the fight out, who knew what the outcome might've been—the dead couldn't physically tire, after all—but she was stubborn! Snatcher would've bet that if her body had given up, then surely her soul would've kept fighting.

And now she just wouldn't go away! He had tried everything: Scaring her, fighting her, throwing her a bone—and here she was! At this point, he was beginning to think he'd dodged a bullet by giving the girl her soul back!

"But you're supposed to be my BFF!" Pouting, Hat Kid stamped her foot on the ground in disappointment. Frankly, he couldn't fathom any reason _why_ a child would want to stick around his forest. If something there wasn't on fire or encased in ice, it was shrouded in a dark gloom. All kinds of dangers lurked in the shadows, licking their lips and just lying in wait for a morsel like her to fall into their jaws. Again, how she had survived this long was beyond him, but the fact that she _kept_ _coming back_ was a mystery beyond all rational thought. "We've got a contract!" she insisted, "Remember?"

"Any and all modifications to said Agreement after signing must be agreed upon by both parties at a later date with an additional agreement made to amend the first," he recited dismissively, "Review the 'Cancellation and Amendments' clause for more details."

There was no such clause, not on paper anyway. His contracts were so severe that they didn't need them and there was no way her childish scribbles would hold in a court room even if she had a case or if he was intimidated by the prospect. Really though, once glance told him that his every word was going over her head, just like before with the fire spirit.

They _were_ similar, now that he actually thought about it. Both annoyed him, both made a habit of getting into mischief, and both were curious creatures whose thoughts and behaviors were a mystery. She was just the sort of child they'd steal away: He knew that.

Then again, he wouldn't be surprised either if he stepped out of his house one day to learn that they had brought her back. There was such a thing as being too _similar,_ after all. Thought it was strange how he found that a part of himself was glad that the nearby fire spirit was too young to grasp any of their words, much less drag her to its domain.

It repulsed him. He would need to remedy that.

"If you won't leave the forest, then why don't you make yourself useful and toss that thing back in whatever firepit it belongs in?" Snatcher waved her away, "I'm busy."

Hat Kid huffed, stomped on the ground a second time, then began to march off. She paused at the opening, looking back sheepishly, "Where…?"

"If everything around you is on fire, you're heading in the right direction." It was all the information he could give her: Even after all this time, there wasn't a single person in Subcon who knew _exactly _where the fire spirits lived. She was lucky, in that respect: That lack of knowledge would keep her from heading too deep into their territory.

At last, she left. Once she was well out of earshot, he sighed and reclined deeper into his chair. There had to be a way to get rid of the girl. She had to leave him alone eventually, right? To find the rest of her scattered Time Pieces. Snatcher tried to continue reading his book, but he had lost all concentration.

He _really_ needed a break…


	7. Ashes to Ashes

Glittering ashes danced across the wind. Normally, they'd parade through Subcon before channeling into the fire spirits' domain, filtered either upon the wide, thick petals prepared in advance to contain them or into the beds of eternally burning embers that would nest any newborn pups upon rebirth. However, as a warm ivory hand raised toward them upon entering a land of fire and smoke, part of the ashes spiraled to the figure's waiting hold—lacing around delicate fingers before collecting neatly in her palm.

How long had she been doing this? Too many seasons had come and went: She had long forgotten the passing of years and even her own name was lost to time. She had forgotten to mourn for her fragmented past, embracing the role her adopted family had given her as Keeper of the Paintings. In time for each of the elders' ritual dances, she created enough of the cursed objects for them to scatter across Subcon and, in return, they hunted for trinkets to help keep her content for as long as she stayed among them.

She loved the fire spirits just as much as she despised them. They were good to her and meant well, even if they were also responsible for her imprisonment and every ounce of loneliness that plagued the woman's long life. They had brought her to their home, taken care of her, and refused to let her leave. They liked her too much to let her die, their own magic running through her veins and maintaining her youth, but at the cost of her body mutating into a humanoid form of their own kin.

Sometimes, she wondered, if she ever did escape Subcon then maybe the fire spirit's magic would eventually leave her. Once again, she could walk under a blue sky among her own people, just before her age would at last catch up to her and her body would collapse from the strain of the years. She'd risk _anything_ for that one moment… But did she really want that? And who would look after the spirits once she was gone? With the forest in ruin, they had come to rely on her paintings to sustain them, because the life energy they captured ensured a healthy resurrection. It was a craft she had invented specifically for them, which—unfortunately—they couldn't replicate on their own.

It was the same reason she chose to stay hidden from the Shadow that ruled the forest. In past years, the fire spirits had hidden her deep within their realm to keep her from leaving: Now, she could explore as far as the outer limits of the burning trees. The spirits told her all sorts of grim stories about him, how he chased them back into their own territory, kept them from having their fun, and stole away many of the travelers they had wanted to play with for his own, grim purposes. He would steal her away too, if he knew she existed. But so long as she didn't linger by the borders of their domain for too long, no one would ever find her—not even him.

Golden eyes shimmered as she stared at the ashes still gathered in her hand. She could not leave the fire spirits, but she could bring the occasional wanderer to her. The paintings themselves may have been destroyed in the ritual fires, but the records of their victims were still there, contained within their remains. All they needed was tiny spark. Summoning a fragment of her magic, she ignited the ashes. They took to flame in a burst of red light, a ring of smoke of the same color coiling before her with a human shape manifesting in its center.

Her eager expression shifted to one of disappointment as the typical, bulky form of a Mafia member floated before her. At first, he was disoriented from the summons—they all were, every time—but when he finally composed himself enough to take in his surroundings, he looked at her in astonished terror. That too was fine. She was used to it. It had been a long time since she'd last seen her own reflection, but she knew it was a far-cry from her former self: Eyes as piercing as a wild animal's; nails and canines sharpened; vivid markings tracing her cheeks, wrists, and ankles all too much like the fire spirits' own—just like the ears and tail that extended from her body; hair pulled back while still managing to frame her narrow face in a tangled mane of ginger locks that swept down in an ombre glow, mimicking a roaring flame.

She didn't like it either.

Out of all her painting's victims, the Mafia Goons were her least favorite. Most of them were dull, brash, and uninteresting brutes who thought more of themselves than she—or likely anyone else—ever could. One hardly deviated from another and they even talked about many of the same things. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, it wasn't uncommon for them to appear in Subcon and they never seemed to learn not to come back.

Nevertheless, decent entertainment was hard to find. The fire spirits were pickier with who they brought to their domain and travelers were rare. Besides the foxes themselves, this was the only way she could get any sort of company or news from the outside world—and only then for a short time. If whoever she tried to keep by her side didn't please the spirits, then they would have to go. Just not before she'd gotten something she wanted.

"From 'Mafia Town,' yes?" she asked the goon before he could fully come to terms with his situation. She had adopted the bare-essential speech that many of the spirits used to talk to her, and rarely fell out of it unless she was speaking to another person for an extended length of time. Not that it was much different from his own curt tongue for her to adapt from anyway. "By the ocean, yes?"

He blinked at her myopically, still stunned, before giving her a rapid nod. He swallowed hard. "Is Mafia…?"

"Dead? No. Contained," she held up the ashes. "In these." It was all the explanation she was going to give him. She had explained herself more times than she could count over the years and she still had to sort through the rest of the gathered ashes from that season's ritual. Hopefully with far better prospects. "I can let you go though. Restore you as you were."

Since the physical body was never truly destroyed, the same magic that rejuvenated the fire spirits could revive her victims. All it would take was for her to scatter the ashes in a single breath to send them flying back across the forest and over the boundaries of the spirits' territory where they would re-manifest as their old selves. After that, they'd have to find their own way out of Subcon, feeling significantly weakened for a while thanks to the depletion of their life energy, but otherwise no worse for wear. Considering that her presence had remained a secret for this long, they probably even reformed thinking that their meeting had only been a dream.

"What spirit want with Mafia?"

Wrong as he was, she wondered if maybe this one wasn't as dull as the rest. He was to the point at least. "News," she answered, "or a story. Anything interesting." Although it really was just talk, she honestly wasn't expecting much. There were a handful of exceptions, but both the past and day-to-day events of any goon's life seemed to greatly match their companions', much to her dissatisfaction.

His face twisted as he thought hard over her offer. It was a simple bargain and she was more than likely to send him soaring off before he had even fulfilled his end of it. He didn't know that though, expecting a catch, and she couldn't help getting a sick joy of watching him sweat. His fears weren't without merit: If he somehow proved _too_ interesting, she might keep him for a while just so he could finish his stories, but she'd never met a Mafia she wanted around her for long since they first visited Subcon.

"M-Mafia knows good story!" he finally exclaimed, wavering to keep his wispy form steady in the ring of smoke. "It true story also!"

"Is it now?"

"Yes, about little hat girl! She came to Mafia Town, caused much trouble!" His face turned from desperate to frustrated at his own, inner musings when he spoke, "Even bested Boss and kicked Mafia…"

Her brows lifted in surprise. What? No fishing tales? No 'funny stories' about harassing seagulls or old people in the street? That alone caught her off-guard, and his words seemed familiar… The younger fire spirits who had returned from the forest were also whispering about a hatted newcomer in Subcon.

She sat down on a nearby rock, waiting for him to continue. Maybe she would listen to him for a while after all.

* * *

_((__**Author's Note**__: AHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!  
You blew it! You totally screwed yourself! Nobody reads this chapter without having to meet an OC! Tell you what though! Hang on a minute! This is her only appearance! That's right! Aren't you lucky? Normally I'd write a whole story focusing primarily on my own inserted characters, but you're a lucky one! You've won the lottery, because I just happen to still be exploring different ideas with both her and the canon characters from the game! _

_Haha, seriously though, for those of you who don't like OCs, don't worry about her popping up in future short stories to this particular fic. I'm debating whether or not to write a much larger story with her as an antagonist for Hat Kid, but as I take on several projects at once and it would definitely be something that would stretch over a long period of time, I'm gonna hang onto it for now._

_As for future additions to this though, while I do have a couple more ideas, they're probably going to take a bit longer to update than the previous ones. I've been on a road trip, so that's why I was able to get a bunch of writing done so quickly. I'm probably going to want to write the newer stories in a similar set-up where I can get multiples of them finished within a short time since most of them are fairly short compared to my other work. Still, feel free to post a review or if there's anything you're interested in possibly seeing experimented with the fire spirits: It might get those creative juices flowing.)) _


	8. Burning Landscapes

The world was on fire, and it was beautiful.

No one understood how it had come to pass: In what seemed to each of the foxes a vivid blur of harsh light, they'd been torn from their home of burning trees and stranded in the heart of a sea of lava. Gathered together along the shore of on one of several volcanic islands, a towering structure of obsidian and basalt loomed over them. Fixtures of gold and steel fashioned into the stonework radiated with the already overwhelming heat that filled the air and singed every breath.

In other circumstances, the sudden warp from their domain would be a grave offense; however, this couldn't have been a more pleasant surprise. If only they had known how things would turn out and it had been possible to postpone their annual ritual… their eldest would've been in awe. Now though, in their current, renewed states, they could barely make sense of the world around them, much less delight at the marvel it had become. Sad as it was, their time to lead had come and gone. It was the next generation's turn to take up their mantle.

One of the newly-dubbed seniors admired their bright, colorful tail against the fiery backdrop. It was thrilled, at least, to see a day come like this themselves. When claiming ground, spirits often manipulated the new territory to their liking. Of course, for the foxes, that usually meant dry fields washed forever in a burning palette. Even if this wasn't their doing, they could applaud the creation of such a landscape.

It was a pitiable thing that most other creatures couldn't dance through the flames like they could, or bathe themselves in the pure majesty of an all-consuming light. They'd never know the ultimate bliss of becoming one with the fire, the ever-present warmth centered at their core and the power ignited throughout their entire being so intensely that they could leap with every playful spark. No, they mostly only understood what was external, so maybe they'd find some grace in this new, burning world as well.

Of course—as much as the spirit hated to admit it—there were still some negatives. The foxes needed living energy to truly thrive, and there didn't seem to be much in the way of food anywhere. All of the elders, the strongest and most intelligent of their skulk, rapidly decided on a course of action among themselves and dispersed—leaving the young for those beneath them to watch over. New territory like this required exploration and there were other beings lurking about as well, if just as dazed as the spirits were.

Most of them appeared to be mortal. With two of its kindred at its side, the fox watched in curious silence behind a wall of volcanic rock as they filed behind each other, one-by-one, up a high slope to the structure's entrance. The gold form of a human child wielding scales greeted them sternly as they marched on, confusion etched across their brows. The spirit grimaced with a disappointed shake of their head, reading the mixed expressions of panic, anger, and concern that read on many of their faces. Such distress didn't belong in paradise…

Disheartened or not, it seemed that every creature from all corners of the globe had been summoned to this place: Their ghostly neighbors in Subcon, the fishy-smelling humans that sometimes visited the forest, birds of all feathers, and goats that hid themselves in heavy garb. Each first took something from the gold figure before scaling the harsh incline. Inching out of its hiding place, the fire spirit took lead of its trio to approach and mimic the foreign behavior. It had been a long while since they'd dealt with mortals: It was best to copy what they did for now.

The fox recognized the gold figure as soon as it drew closer, even with the long stretch of fabric covering the latter's 'eyes.' _Lava girl…_ Not the real one, but modeled after the delightfully hot-tempered child. She was well-known among their kind for often turning her island of rushing streams into a blazing oasis. All of this had to be her doing! The spirit giggled. Now if only the little one would just submit to the fire itself and join them. A soul like hers was plenty worthy enough to walk by their side along burning coals.

She'd already been marked once, along with her hatted friend. In different ways, the both of them were wonderfully fun and bright. Maybe if they could just gain one to their side that would convince the other to follow…

The object the figure released turned out to be just a small stub of paper, scratched the with the kind of markings mortals always loved to make as if it meant more than just claiming what was theirs. Although the spirits gradually could learn their language, the markings were forever beyond them, and so it didn't even bother trying to understand it. The fox's ears fidgeted questionably before one of them titled back in dissatisfaction. Then it followed after the other creatures in their single-file line, slipping the paper past their teeth where it instantly caught on their tongue and erupted in a tiny blaze. It was a poor snack, but it was thoughtful enough.

Its kindred fell behind, the second spirit remaining by the gold 'girl,' plucking stub after stub to nibble on, until several creatures had passed by. No matter: The area seemed safe enough. Up ahead, the fox spotted a familiar, dark figure and narrowed its glowing eyes. It was the Shadow, looming over all, as usual. However, it felt that part of his power had ebbed since he was away from the woodlands he guarded so fiercely. If he felt threatened by it, he didn't show it: He merely stood counting his flock of doll-like wraiths with an intense glare. He didn't even seem interested in the armada of unfamiliar beings that surrounded him, or maybe he was just too preoccupied to act on his cruel urges.

The spirits had no quarrel with him either—for now. This was too joyous a day for him to ruin their fun, so until he learned to play nicely, he could continue to sulk alone for all they cared. As the line continued onward, moving up a flight of steps, the fox flicked their tail at the ghost behind them—hoping he saw the insultingly dismissive gesture before they ventured further.

Even the inside of the structure was covered in floors of molten lava! The fire spirit felt like a young pup again, climbing along metal platforms seared red by the heat and twirling by torrents of flames shot out of pipes. Mortal invention had given a new flare to it all by turning the wide space into an ideal playground for them.

It really did seem that food was their only concern. No doubt the lava girl would have thought of that too though, wily as she was. Oh, _why_ couldn't she become theirs?!

This new world truly was paradise. If only it had lasted a little longer…


	9. A Child's Promise

He'd only seen the fire spirits before at a distance; in the deepest parts of the forest when he'd visited the woodwards with his parents, or when Subcon's denizens needed to organize around the foxes' rituals and the barriers that manifested during them. He knew they sometimes ventured into town, even making themselves at home within ovens or fireplaces, but he'd also been warned about how dangerous they could be. From the simple nature of their element to their habit of sometimes stealing people away, they were creatures to be wary around.

Which was why the young prince kept himself hidden behind the doorframe as he spied on the small fox that had somehow found its way into the palace kitchen. He shuffled nervously from foot to foot, wishing he had his mask with him, but it was tucked away in his room. Why would he have it? Kids only ever really needed them when playing in the forest or travelling its dirt trails. This was his own home!

One of the servants had promised to make jelly biscuits as a snack for him earlier in the day. He'd only wanted to check how they were doing, but instead of finding any such treats, he'd stumbled upon a fire spirit a little over half his size nestled in one of the stone ovens instead. It was napping in a coiled ball amid the low embers as if it didn't have a care in the world… How it managed to sneak inside was beyond him though.

The boy didn't know what to do beyond finding an adult, and by then he worried that the spirit might set the room on fire in his absence. So, he kept watch where he was at a safe distance and hoped it didn't wake up. He just wondered what would he even do if it did since all he'd ever been told to do was avoid them. How could anyone fight off a creature made of fire, especially someone that was barely more than six years old?

The fox fascinated the child though, he could admit that. Its fur seemed to glow brighter than the low flames that surrounded it, and there was a fearlessness to its behavior, making itself at home without a care in the world. It was a being that went where it pleased and did what it wanted, only concerned where its next source of food or entertainment would come from next. A rather arrogant creature, but its powerful abilities justified its pride.

He was so caught up by wonder that he didn't notice someone creeping up behind him until a callused, but gentle hand fell on his shoulder—startling him. He glanced around to see the maid that promised him sweets press a finger to her lips. In her other hand, she cradled a small stack of wood beneath her arm.

"They're lovely, aren't they?" she whispered, they stepped around him and into the kitchen in a way his young mind thought was bravery. Despite how she acted as if this was routine for her day, each movement was purposeful. Her steps were confident, but also soft, and she carefully placed each of the quarter logs in the oven with a faint shuffle before moving back. As she tended to the already prepped batter and began to cut out the biscuits on a tray, the fire spirit's ears twitched as it was roused. Only then did the prince realize that was her intent, waking it in a gentle fashion.

The fox wasn't surprised by her appearance. If anything, it ignored her completely and instead turned its focus to the newly set wood that surrounded it. It began to nibble on the bark, aiding the already catching flames as fire licked past its teeth. The servant, meanwhile, withdrew a dry slab of bread from a nearby cupboard, whistled softly to get the creature's attention, and then gave the wasted food a light, underhanded toss across the floor. The spirit dove for it immediately, a joyful 'yip' resounding from its throat.

Unknowingly, the boy shuffled a little further out of hiding as he watched on. The spirit picked up the bread with both hands, its tail wagging like a dog's as it ate voraciously. The crust scorched no sooner than it was slipped past its fangs, and the woman had to toss a second piece over for further distraction in order to finish her task, slide the tray in the oven, and seal it without trouble.

With a hand on her hip and an amused grin, she turned to face the young prince again, "Would you like to feed it?"

Pulling his lips into a tense line, he bundled the front of his shirt in his hands nervously and looked down. He kind of did… He wasn't supposed to though, right? No more than feeding any other wild animal. "I'll get in trouble…"

As if reading his mind, she replied with a snort, "I think your parents will give you a pass on this, Your Highness," and handed him another slice. She explained further, "The fire spirits come around more often than you might think. They're not domesticated, but they're perfectly used to us here in the kitchen."

He thought he over a little more, feeling at the bread. It really was hard, leftovers from several days ago with tiny spots of mold already beginning to bloom along one corner. He stuck his tongue out in disgust, then looked to the fire spirit who didn't seem to mind them even as they finished their second slice. "Are they like helpers?"

The servant hummed at the question, "I guess so, even if they're _unreliable helpers_. You can thank them for keeping the fires going around here, but they still pretty much do whatever they please."

"So, this one's a good fox…" At last he felt a tiny smile that soon turned to a look of determination. The prince was still nervous, but he gingerly walked over to the fire spirit, trying to carry himself with the same quiet confidence that the servant did—even if the way he jerked the bread outward in offering as he stooped down was far from regal.

It took a second for the fire spirit to notice him, tilting its head back and then flipping around on all fours. "Food!" It craned its neck forward to pull away half of the bread with its teeth and fall back once again, hands catching the crumbling remains as it munched on. Feeding the spirit seemed to be like feeding a roaring furnace, each bite rapidly torched with the being never feeling full no matter how much was tossed down its gullet. Soon enough, it was reaching for the rest like a begging child.

The prince's smile began to widen as he passed over the rest and the fox eagerly swiped it away, repeating the same happy, if hungry behavior. "Is it tasty?" he asked, then pressed the fox further by echoing the word as one might to a baby learning their first words, "_Tasty?_"

"_Tassh-tee?"_ came the muffled reply as the spirit struggled with the new vocabulary between mouthfuls, _"Tassh-tee! Tassh-tee!"_ The boy laughed in delight, clapping his hands, and the spirit fidgeted its ears at the sound before seemingly giggling along with him.

He felt a bit nervous again as, this time, he reached out to pet the creature's head. The latter recoiled a bit at the sudden touch, but soon enough settled down to focus once more on the bread in its hands. The allowance was enough to embolden the child to keep his hand there for a while, stroking the soft fur between its ears. The little, luminous hairs cast a faint, yellow light against his skin in the already bright glow of the midday sunbeams pouring in from the windows. They seemed to flicker just like real flames through his fingertips. "It's so warm…" he noted softly, the spirit's body temperature so much higher than his own thanks to the roaring, eternal flame that made up the core of its being.

"I see we have a guest," came a second female voice, although this one a deeper alto than the servant's. The prince recognized it instantly and looked up toward the sound as if embarrassed. It was his mother, looking at him with a light smirk. Rather than scold him, however, she also accepted a piece of bread from the other woman and joined at his side, the elaborate folds of her skirt bundling around her as she kneeled. Her eyes were caring as she too fed the spirit and it accepted her offering as gleefully as before, unbothered by the growing numbers around it.

The boy watched his mother in awe, seeing the grace with which she acted and how content the spirit seemed to be at her side, finishing up its last snack quick and then—to his surprise—scurrying up her form until it could nuzzle its cheek against her own. It practically cooed at her, its tail wagging merrily behind it, and she pet it along the back in gentle, soothing motions.

She smiled at her son, "You need to be wary around the spirits, but they're just as much our subjects as any Dweller, so when you get older, you'll need to take good care of them too. Do you think you can do that?"

"It seems like he's already off to a good start, miss," the servant replied behind her, hiding a smile behind her hand.

The young prince blinked up at them both, but his own grin swiftly returned to him as well. He nodded firmly, "Yeah! I can do it! When I get big, I'm gonna look after all the forest!"


	10. A Hot Set

He needed a drink.

It'd been a long trip and transporting his crew what felt like halfway across the planet hadn't been easy, especially since they couldn't go by his beloved train to get to their next film site. However, for this scene, the Conductor needed a prairie and no set any of his owls designed was up to par with the real thing. The wind rolled past him, and although he couldn't see much of the vast, rolling hills ahead under the near pitch-black sky, he could hear the rustle of waves of tall grass stretched as far as the eye could see.

Surrounded by tents and crates full of equipment, the Conductor was just making one last round. It was late and everyone else had turned in for the night. Lazy bampots… If they left anything at the studio, there was nothing they could do: He just wanted to make sure everything was prepared for shooting the next day.

He walked over to the main set. All of the flats had been constructed in advance and put up within hours to create both an interior and exterior view of a rustic cabin. They'd even managed to find a real iron stove to work with among the other, old-fashioned set pieces placed around. It looked idyllic… Right up until one remembered that the main character's peaceful homelife would be horrifically destroyed, sending him on a spiral of self-destruction across the great, western landscape.

The Conductor grinned proudly at himself, folding his arms across his chest. It was going to be a heartwarming film.

A light caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, glowing behind a wooden wagon and some other large props they'd need for different shots. Its golden radiance wobbled and wavered like a torch. The director's smile faltered, figuring that someone must've left a lantern on. If much fuel had burned away, someone was getting it docked from their paycheck. Spinning on his heel, he walked over to put it out.

He was surprised to find a trio of bright beings there instead, rummaging through the set pieces. He stopped in his tracks, gawking at the sight. They were fire spirits: Humanoid, foxlike creatures that had a penchant for setting things aflame. Although their limbs and tails didn't have as many of the polychromatic bands as adults, they were still bigger than him by at least a head. And he was pretty sure he hadn't hired any to star in his movie.

Maybe one of the owls had done something to attract them. It wasn't unheard of for them to wander through other parts of the world, but how far away were they from that cursed forest they were said to predominately originate from? Was it close by? He grimaced. It was bad enough for these things to be here, but he didn't want to have to worry about any of the other woodland horrors that spawned from that place interfering with his set.

One thing at a time though… The foxes were making a mess of things, plucking other props from out of the wagon, curiously fiddling with them in their hands, and then tossing most over the shoulders in a bored way. His expression hardened as he felt a well of anger broil inside his chest and he marched toward them. Walking fire hazards or not, he wasn't about to let them turn his set into a playground!

"_Hey!"_ he screamed at the trio, practically bouncing from the intensity of his outburst with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. They turned to face him, ears fidgeting with interest. "Get your filthy paws off of me props and get lost! You hear me, you walking candle sticks?! Go! _Shoo!_"

If he were honest with himself, the Conductor had always had more bark than bite. He could get rough when he had to, but he didn't have much to bring to a fight when unarmed. He made up for it in speed and posturing, but he wasn't sure how useful that would be against the spiritual beings. Unconsciously, he kind of hoped his loud shouts would rile a few of the owls out of their tents for backup. Unfortunately, none showed to rally at his side.

Instead, the fire spirits stared at him a moment longer before turning to face one another and chitter among themselves in their own tongue of barks and yips. Slighted at what felt like a dismissing rebuff, the Conductor felt his anger grow and he moved to climb one of the wagon wheels, sputtering in frustration, "H-hey, did you hear me?! Don't you ignore me! I'm talking to you three, _peck necks!_ Get going!"

Before he made it into the wagon itself, a long snout popped down to meet his. The suddenness of the act and the sheer luminescence of bright face right in his own startled him enough to lose his grip and fall back, his eyes stinging. The director hissed through his beak, covering them until the strained feeling could pass.

He heard the soft pad of feet land at his side and tensed. One of the fire spirits was coiling around him curiously, sniffing at his form. Its body emitted a warmth similar to that of a low flame and it was so close that he could feel the tip of its tail brush against him. In the meantime, two other bodies dropped in front of him.

His bravado slipped a bit. The Conductor had no choice but to wait for his eyes to readjust: Even then, he wasn't sure he'd like what he'd see in the event he'd stirred the creatures to aggression. Nevertheless, when he could finally open them, he was merely greeted to the same, interested face that had caught him off-guard seconds before. Crouched down to all fours, one of the fire spirits stared at him intensely.

The other two remained silent, standing close to one another with their heads turning back and forth, over and over, from the bird to their own kindred. Their tails flicked and their ears batted at half-mast with intrigue. The Conductor himself remained stiff and bewildered.

Then he felt a pair of hands grab the tuffs that framed his face as the fox nearby gekkered in his ears. He remained still, half-expecting to bet set ablaze, only for the creature's grip to withdraw just as swiftly to touch the sides of its own cheeks before repeating the again with its continued chatter.

And its companions started to laugh, guffawing loudly in their typical, warbling way.

The Conductor was baffled, but he didn't have long to decipher the meaning to their behavior as the first repeated it—only this time tugging at the feathers near the back of his scalp as its ears wiggled. The director felt his whole body pulled back at the action and the other foxes only laughed harder at his expense.

The perceived mockery was enough to enrage him again, his face flushing. With a brutish cry, the director tired to lash out at the first fire spirit with a wide, backward swing—missing by less than an arm's length as it jumped back to the other two in a quick, twisting motion. He rolled onto his feet to chase after them and they took off, still gekkering with laughter all the while.

One of them scampered up a large haybale, propping itself over the edge in a low crouch on its stomach, tail wagging. The Conductor shouted after it, stamping the ground, "Oh no you don't: Get down from there!"

Rather than listen, the fox began to chew on a few, stray pieces of hay sticking out of the mass. The tips of the dry grass took light, shriveling in a burst of sparks as they broke apart behind the creature's teeth. The Conductor could only imagine the spirit gradually working its way to setting the entire bale on fire, along with the wide landscape they stood in. A field like this… It wouldn't take long for the waves of grass to turn into a sea of flames if it wasn't reign in quick.

A determined growl left him as he tried scaling after the spirit, clawed digits digging loosely through the hay in odd footholds. The fire spirit waited for him to _just_ reach the top before diving off and scampering away. He kept up the pursuit.

He was typically spry on his feet despite his age, but the fire spirit was still faster, keeping him at a distance if never letting him lose sight of itself. For a while, he didn't even know where the remaining pair had gone: He was simply kept at a near breakneck pace, running around the film site and weaving through the tents. As they passed the ones his crew were sleeping in, he felt like cursing every one of them for not waking up to help him, the feeling manifesting into an aggravated scream. If decent workhands—ones that were used to his strict preferences—weren't so hard to find, he'd fire them all!

His legs were burning! Lucky for him, he finally, _finally _managed to corner the fox in between a stack of crates and some leftover flats. It'd been a while since he'd wrangled anything—back in his stunt days—but he kind of wished he had some rope with him anyway. Then again, the spirit would likely just sear through it…

Positioning himself to keep it pinned, he looked around fervently for something he could use: Maybe some wire or a cattle prod from one of the props. However, there was nothing like that anywhere to be found lying nearby. Instead, most of the boxes at hand were labeled with the explosives they planned to use for the main character's tragic scene.

…_Oh no._

As soon as the thought came to mind—the words 'Danger: Highly Flammable' staring back at him in big, bold letters and from multiple angles amid the mountain of incendiaries—he spotted one of the other foxes poke its head over the top of the stack. He cringed, subconsciously backing away with a horrified look on his face as it started sniffing around and jumped face-first in a diving motion along the lids of some of the lower crates. The first soon joined it in its hunt for fiery goodies.

It the last spirit, however, that managed to reach a good portion of his stash. It was the quietest of the three, and the Conductor didn't even notice it until he heard the sound of wood creaking as it popped open the lid of open of a nearby barrel to peep inside.

"Pow-dah?" It stuck its snout at the contents, the tip momentarily coming out black when it lifted its head back out only then for the miniscule bleads to light up as it licked them off. "_Pow-dah!_"

As it happily dove into the barrel with its kin racing to join it, the Conductor spun on his heel at sight of the bright bloom from inside the container that immediately followed.

The last thought he had before he was thrown off his feet and his ears started to ring was that he needed a _strong _drink…


	11. Slush

The setting sun cast a warm, pink glow over the pure white canvas that made up the forest floor. A fresh snowfall had only just settled hours earlier, with really just their two sets of footprints alone to dot the otherwise smooth path behind them. The barest breeze tickled against the back of his neck, chilling the young man beneath the heavy wool scarf wrapped around him.

Personally, he wasn't very fond of being out in the cold for too long, but Vanessa always seemed to enjoy a winter stroll. She was beaming, a pep in her step as she walked beside him, her fingers intertwined with his own, humming a soft tune to herself. He didn't know how she endured it.

Granted, they always were cold, but even through her gloves, her hands felt like ice. He'd be worried of her catching pneumonia, except not once throughout their young lives had she ever fallen sick thanks to a chill. If anything, summers hit her the hardest, forcing her inside during the hottest parts of the day and making her feint if she were out in the heat for any extended period. Now, at this time of year, she could forget her hat and coat and nevertheless feel perfectly fine. Ever the bitterest of winds couldn't paint the clear porcelain of her flesh a flushed red.

As for the prince, he already knew he'd been outside for too long. The muscles in his face were starting to go numb and his nose was stuffed up. Including the time they'd spent wandering the villages and visiting shops, they'd been outside for at least a couple of hours. All he wanted to do was go home and curl up with a good book by the fire. Unfortunately, he wasn't very good at giving hints and thus couldn't excuse himself.

Then again, it wasn't like he really wanted to either. Despite growing up as childhood friends, despite the near inevitability of their match as Subcon's future rulers, love's intoxicating buzz was still new and all-consuming. All it took was for her to cast him a pleading glance to convince him to stay out a little while longer. Besides, as they were getting older, each of them had more duties to take on than when they were kids. It was good for them to spend as much of their free time together as they could.

Suddenly, Vanessa pulled his arm close to her chest, hugging up against him. If his face weren't already coated a lush red from the cold, his embarrassment would've been obvious. Although she hadn't been forceful, he tripped over himself nonetheless at the small gesture. She had to pull him back to keep him balanced.

"Are you alright, my prince?" she questioned, eyes looking up at him imploringly.

He gave her a soft smile, nodding. She had always used that term of endearment, even when they were children. What had been the doting nickname for a young crush had developed into words of fondness whispered between lovers—although he still felt bashful uttering them himself. He remembered how her face had lit up the first time he called her his princess: It had made her so happy. He brushed her cheek with the back of his free hand.

"I just slipped," he assured her, "I'm fine."

"You klutz!" she giggled, helping him straighten himself back up. She then skipped ahead a step to tug him forward, "Come on! Let's see if we can make it to the ruins before it gets dark."

He looked past her, toward the setting sun. The ruins were fairly deep in the woods. "I don't know, Ness… It's already getting pretty late. Don't you think we should turn back soon?"

Her giggle turned into a pout, "_Aw_, what's the harm in staying out a little late? Especially when I have a knight in shining armor protecting me." She said these last words with a teasing, pointed jab at his chest.

"It's not like I'm scared. I'm just worried about our parents what our parents will think," he replied, "I mean, your mom won't be happy if I bring you home late, right?"

The giddiness with which she'd been carrying herself swiftly faded as Vanessa momentarily stared at a patch of snow at her feet, eyes hardening a little. "It's not like it's _that _late…" she muttered, before a coy tone returned to her voice, "Don't you want to be with me for a little longer?" Despite this, her grip on him had tightened: He could feel the shape of her fingers through the double-layer of his sleeve and her grasp on his wrist was so firm that it was hard to move his wrist.

Maybe he shouldn't have brought up her mom. She was gravely ill, after all, and Vanessa was probably upset enough about it as it was—especially since her father had already passed two years prior. Although he felt she should take as much time as possible to be with her mother, maybe this was her way of coping. She probably needed moments away like this just to clear her head for a while.

What if they hurried…? He really didn't like the idea of being out this late. Even if there was nothing to fear, their absence could scare their servants enough into forming search parties and only making things worse for everyone. The last thing Vanessa's mother needed was to worry about the former's safety. Now that he'd upset her though, he was almost loath to bring that up.

The sound of crunching snow nearby brought the couple to attention. Looking around, they heard it again and soon saw bright lights weaving through the trees. Curious, if already expecting what they'd find, the prince grinned and tugged Vanessa along after the lights with a cry of surprise. _Fire spirits! _Maybe if she saw something interesting like them it would satisfy her enough to end their adventure for the day.

His lungs burned, but it was only a short search. The two found a small group of the foxes rummaging through what had melted into a bog of glistening slush around them, likely in search of food. They didn't come out often in the winter, greatly preferring their home of fire and smoke—the borders of which were currently blanketed in a dense fog created by the clash opposing elements. They hated this kind of weather, evident in the way they shuffled and shivered in the wet mush, igniting and reigniting themselves in a small bursts of flames. Determined, however, they continued their hunt through the snow for goodies to burn.

The prince smiled. At times, they made him nervous, but there were a handful that occasionally visited his home for scraps and kept the fires lit in return. A lot of Dwellers had made peace with the foxes in this mutual arrangement. Be it during their ritual dances or simply when they were playing, they were also fascinating to watch. He looked to Vanessa.

Unfortunately, she didn't share his intrigue. Rather than the bright smile he'd been expecting, he found her glowering at the foxes. Admittedly, he'd fallen under similar glances before, but he'd never seen her with such disdain. "What's wrong? It's only the fire spirits. We're not children. They wouldn't try to lure us off—especially not together."

"No, they wouldn't," she agreed, if sourly, "They've always hated me, even when I was a little girl." Before he noticed, Vanessa bundled a large fistful of snow in her hands and rolled it into a ball. "Lousy, little pests!"

In one swift motion, she chucked it at one of the spirits. To him, it didn't seem to fly all that fast, but the fox it struck acted like it hit _hard._ Its head jerked upon impact and its hands flew up in pain as it fell backward with a harsh yip. The trio surrounding it tensed instantly, their hides bristling with sparks in an aggressive way as they snapped their gazes toward the attacker.

"Go find another forest to light on fire, you _beasts!_"

If he'd had the chance to check, the prince might've seen that the snowball remained mostly intact at the fox's feet. However, all he really had time to do was push himself in between Vanessa and the spirits meters away as panic took over, arms extended in a silent attempt to pacify the suddenly escalated situation. He gave the young princess a quick, questioning gaze before keeping it on the creatures to ensure they wouldn't retaliate. By then, the snowball had melted to all but a miniscule piece of ice thanks to the heat from their bodies.

"Easy, easy, _easy now!_" he said in a soft, if rushed, voice, "She didn't mean it—we don't mean any harm!" He cast another, brief glance at the princess, repeating himself, "We don't mean any harm…"

To him, it was impossible to tell the foxes apart beyond size and the different colorations of their fur that marked maturity. He didn't know if any of them were among those that came to his home, but he gave a slight bow nonetheless. It might've been a useless motion—given how they only understood so much of human language and behavior—but he thought it might better reflect a submissive stance, keeping his face downward.

Creatures often remembered negatives experiences better than they did positive ones. He didn't think just one bad experience like this would be enough to incur their wrath, especially after years of good relations, but the prince wanted to ensure those bonds between the spirits and his people. They were all a part of Subcon.

"You don't have to bow to them," he heard Vanessa say from behind, "They're just like wild animals."

"Sometimes they can be," he admitted in a calm voice with a nod, not turning to look at her again. The foxes were only just starting to relent, their fur dimming as they quelled their fire. "Which is why we can't just punish them for anything: They don't know any better." Squatting low, he reached into his pocket. "If you want them to like you, Ness, then you need to be patient with them, that's all."

The prince pulled out a crumpled scone wrapped in paper, leftovers from elevenses that he'd forgotten in his rush out the door. The practice of getting through to someone through their stomach seemed to hold truest to the fire spirits, their ever-burning cores making them near insatiable eaters. This group seemed fairly young as well—barely coming up to his knees—which usually meant they were all the hungrier.

As expected, they softened at the sight of the treat. Tilting its head and staring at him a second longer, one of the fire spirits crept over to his side and sniffed at the offering held at arm's length. A bright, thin tongue slipped past its fangs and it gave the scone a ginger lick, steam rising as it burnt the crust. Then it gave an accepting, content warble from its throat, tiny hands reaching for the food as the rest of its kindred scrambled forward—not to miss their share.

All the while, Vanessa kept her distance, remaining at the side of a thick trunk. "It's easy for you to say," she mumbled, "You win everyone over. Even the animals."

"You jest," he snorted, watching as his scone disappeared within seconds. One of the spirits startled licking the crumbs off of his gloves next. Its tongue had dimmed as it controlled its temperature enough not to burn him.

One of the others, meanwhile, had shimmied toward his left and a little closer to his side. It stared at him intensely, moving on its tiptoes, and began to sway. It was a funny, soothing motion, and he snorted again in amusement. It took longer for him to realize the fox was only mimicking his own movements—his body swaying as his mind began to falter.

When he was finally alert once more, he found himself lying in his own bed, sick, his mother scolding him for being out in the cold for so long and—after she was gone—Vanessa sneaking a promise from him for them to go for another walk as soon as he was feeling better.


	12. Hard Feelings

They would have war.

The entire pod was looking forward to it. To the swamp spirits, it was high time conflict finally brewed between them and the Dwellers. They'd never forgotten how their territory had been pushed deep within the far recesses of the forest: No amount of peace talks or years of firmly guarded borders could stifle that long-held grudge. No one ever said it, but they _longed _for something like this, a single act worth the harshest of retaliation—an excuse to attack the mortals above without restraint.

Which came in the form of a violent storm. With only the barest of warnings—the feeling of a strong wave of magic passing through the wood—the surface of the swamp had frozen over with a thick layer of ice no amount of force could shatter. The rapidly freezing water was a shock to every creature that dwelled in its depths, and although there were no loses save for some of the wildlife, the spirits had needed to send a rescue party to drag the immobile guards into the boundaries of their deep, underwater realm. Even then, they lost a lot of plant life and it had trapped them for weeks.

Although they didn't resurface often to begin with, the latter issue was enough of an insult to infuriate them, an invasion against _their _territory. They knew it had to have been the Dwellers' rulers to cast the curse: Nearly all of Subcon's spirits had sensed the powerful magic among them for generations now. No doubt the other spirits had been affected by the storm as well, and although none bore the same, subdued fury as those of the swamp, they wouldn't take this act of treachery lightly.

The swamp spirit felt a cruel smile pull against his lips. Most likely, it would be a bloodbath.

If the storm had affected their waters this badly, no doubt it had reached other spiritual realms connected to the forest as well. That didn't even count those who lived within the forest itself. All of them were at risk and no spirit would show mercy where their territories were concerned. This was a betrayal to the decades of good relations both the spirits and Dwellers had tried to foster, and the latter would pay for it dearly. Then, once all was said and done, the spirits were bound to fight amongst themselves over whatever scraps remained of Subcon to expand the boundaries of their own terrain.

After the ice had thawed enough to break through, the people of the swamp had been ordered by their leader to take to the surface and strike back. They were weaker on land, but it didn't matter. A small army of brackish warriors—wielding roughly carved spears, their long, slick tails splitting into pairs of mottled legs smeared with grime—climbed out of the water, stretched, and marched straight for the village.

They hadn't expected someone to have already fulfilled their task of complete annihilation.

Even before they reached the first line of the Dwellers' homes, the thick miasma that had already spread throughout the forest thanks to the sudden mass of deaths shrouded it in darkness. Pillars of ice were shot through the ruined structures, and the villagers were discovered only in the form of frozen statues—stuck forever in a terrified pose from their failed attempts to escape the danger. Whether or not there were survivors, they didn't yet know, but clearly the storm had reached them first. The Dwellers never stood a chance.

_So, the young queen attacked her own people… _He couldn't fathom the reason, but it didn't really surprise him. There had been something wrong with that family for a while now—beyond the magic passed down through their women. Something about their very nature that was disturbingly ill. It could've just been an accident as well, but the kind of power that could cause such disaster required the drive to manifest it. Then was the queen dead as well? Consumed by her own magic? He didn't know.

One of the others barked a short command, "Search!"

The group of soldiers divided, weaving through the chilled, foreboding streets and frozen corpses, looking for anyone who could give them more information on what had happened or that they could take out their unsatisfied vengeance on. It was several minutes before the swamp spirit paused, alerted by the scritch-scratch of claws on wood. He looked to the side and found a fire spirit in front of one of the ruined homes, having managed to melt enough of the ice that encased it to reach a small part of the door. It pawed at it fervently, but hopelessly: A knock that would never be answered.

It was putting it lightly to say that their two species had never seen eye-to-eye. At the most basic level, their opposing elements—fire and water—made them natural enemies. The foxes also were much closer to the Dwellers than the swamp spirits ever had been. It could've been a rumor—one that now looked truer than ever—but apparently, they even sometimes lived together. The idea of that kind of dependency made him cringe, but he wasn't without sympathy. To the fox, it must've felt like it had been stabbed in the back by and then lost a dear friend.

It was giving up. The fire spirit sat on the step beneath it, ears dropping in a lonely way. The swamp spirit watched it in silence a second longer before approaching, the former so distracted by its own thoughts that it didn't notice his approach until he'd stopped half a meter behind him. "There's nothing for you here now," he said, "You'll need to start hunting for food elsewhere. Maybe even outside of the forest, if the ice stays long enough."

The fox looked at him only for short moment, then gave a single nod. Although this one seemed plenty old enough to speak, it didn't give any other kind of response.

He deeply exhaled through almost-flat bump—that made his nose. What sorry creatures: Overly reactionary, hardly thinking beyond the fun curiosities that came and went through its life, save for food and fire. This one in particular, tamed almost like a dog for by often weak and dull beings as humans.


End file.
